


The Time Between

by insainity



Series: FenHawke Drabbles [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anders is an ass, Angst, Drabble Collection, Drama, Fenris Has Issues, Fluff, Headcanon, Humor, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Missing Scene, but a canonical ass
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 05:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4379558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insainity/pseuds/insainity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Fenris knew in his heart that it would be different with Hawke, and it had been. That night he had refocused his rage into passion and allowed Hawke to calm the raging storm inside him, even if only for a little while."</p><p>A collection of drabbles that fill the gaps between the Fenris/Hawke romance in Dragon Age 2. Strictly friendmance! There will be an over-arcing continuity but each chapter is mostly its own little scene. It's my OTP and I just never tire of exploring Fenris' many, many issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Night

Fenris knew in his heart that it would be different with Hawke, and it had been. That night he had refocused his rage into passion and allowed Hawke to calm the raging storm inside him, even if only for a little while. Though the markings had ached at the contact there were no rough hands holding him down or twisting his limbs; Hawke’s caresses were gentle and tender. Affectionate nonsense murmured through hot breath against his ear, Hawke’s talented tongue teasing along his length, the heat of his mouth driving him to ecstasy, and again when Hawke took him slowly, carefully, with pleasure he had not known possible from the act. It had been perfect.

But what followed, that was the consequence of letting his guard down. He had lost himself with Hawke only for one torturous moment to find who had been, and could never be again. And then that too retreated back into the void in his mind. Like a coward he had run, even now as he regretted it he didn’t know what he could do to fix it. He was certain Hawke would grow to hate him in time, would move on, and would be better for it.

Yes. Things were better this way.


	2. It's Complicated

It was a few months after That Night when he had been sitting in the Hanged Man. Typically he preferred to drink alone in the ruins of Danarius’ mansion, but he could no longer be distracted from his thoughts by just inebriation. The noise of drunken arguments and the revelries of the truly miserable provided a buffer between himself and his own inner demons.

Isabela and Varric were there, but they always were, the two literally lived at the dingy tavern. Just as he finished his vile swill Varric returned to the table and set another mug of ale in front of him, and then asked far too casually, “So... you and Hawke?” 

“What about us?” Fenris asked, eyes narrowed, unsure where this was going. 

“I want to make sure I get all the details right when I tell this story. Did he sweep you off your feet? I'm assuming he did the sweeping, he's taller than you. Awkward otherwise,” Varric grinned as he sat down and Isabela snickered, both eying him smugly.

Fenris struggled to fight back the urge to flee from the table. These sorts of conversations were never his forte at the best of times, worse so now that the subject was his apparently obvious affection for Hawke, something he had come here precisely to avoid thinking about. 

“You both know?” was all he could manage in his quiet horror. 

“How could anyone not know? And _I_ for one am rather put out that the two most gorgeous men in Kirkwall are only interested in _crossing swords_ ,” drawled Isabela as she took a long, bitter swig of her whiskey. 

“What about Sebastian? He makes even the chantry sisters swoon,” said Varric.

“Even I'm not up to that challenge,” she replied with a snort.

Fenris sank back in his chair, grimacing as he raised his mug to his lips, “It is- it is that obvious?” 

“You couldn't be more obvious with that little red cloth on your wrist,” Isabela retorted, and Fenris immediately hid his arm under the table.

“Hawke's crazy about you, elf,” Varric said with a knowing smile, “And if you're still interested you should let him know.” 

Fenris' eyes widened again, one brow raising, “He's told you what occurred between us?”

Varric raised his hands in a diplomatic gesture, “Only after he was properly plied with booze, I assure you.” Fenris suddenly glared down into his mug, the crafty dwarf had been buying him drinks all night. “And not all the sordid details, as you would put it. Just enough to know things are rocky between you two,” Varric added, noticing Fenris' scowl.

“I...” Fenris polished off his drink in one long draw and slammed the mug back on the table, his voice husky when spoke next, “Yes. It's complicated.”


	3. All That Remains

It was not long after the night in the Hanged Man that they spoke properly to one another again. He had scarcely seen hide nor hair of the mage in those months and he suspected Hawke was avoiding him just as much as he was avoiding Hawke.

Several times Fenris considered walking the short distance to the Hawke estate to apologize and beg for a second chance. Perhaps it was his pride that made him unable to bring himself to do it. Maybe it was that Hawke was a mage and any act of submission toward him was wholly unpalatable. Or perhaps it was the fear that letting go so completely would once again trigger the return and subsequent loss of his memories. There was also the dark, cloying hate that would continue to fester inside him as long as Danarius still lived. None of these were good excuses, he knew, but they held him locked in place all the same.

These thoughts had tired him into a doze as he sat in a chair by the fireplace, hand loosely gripping a bottle of one of the cheaper wines from the cellar. It was evening when he was startled awake by a loud banging on the front door. He winced as he sat up, his stiffened joints creaking with effort. He had fallen asleep in his armor. Again.

The pounding at the door came a second time, erratic and frantic. Doubtless the tax collector had the nerve to stop by again. Robbers or slavers wouldn’t knock, unless they were exceptionally stupid, and the sound had a desperate tone to it, a plea for help. Fenris grabbed his greatsword before he hurried down the stairs.

Upon wresting the door open his heart leaped into his throat when he saw Hawke standing before him. The man's hair was a windswept mess, his coat hastily thrown on with half the buckles undone, half of the armored pieces missing. Most alarming of all was the haunted look in Hawke's widened eyes.

“A killer has my mother.”

It was all that needed to be said. Fenris' shock turned to steely determination. He sheathed his blade at his back and followed Hawke outside.

“Let us go.”

 

\---

Fenris had witnessed a great many horrors in the Imperium, but he considered they all might pale in comparison to what had been done to Lady Amell. Hawke sat hunched over while cradling what was once his mother, comforting her with levity in her final moments even with the horror before him.

“You know me” Hawke quipped sadly, “I always save the day...”

Fenris felt his heart wrench painfully in that moment. He exchanged a look with Varric and saw the dwarf must have felt much the same.

That's what brought him to Hawke's home later that night.

He gazed up at the imposing stone estate. It was not so long ago he had been in similar position, working up the courage to venture inside and apologize to Hawke for his bout of cruelty and anger following the slaying of one of his tormentors. And that had led to... other things.

He tried not to think about it as he rapped his steel clad knuckles on the door. He was welcomed in by Bodahn and barely spared at a glance at Orana as she skittered out of his sight. He never had quite figured out if the girl recognized him as the former, rather infamous, staple of Danarius’ house.

He ascended the staircase and softly padded into Hawke's room unnoticed. The man was sitting on the edge of his bed, hunched and staring at nothing in particular, his paled face drawn tight.

“I do not know what to say. But I am here.” Fenris said as he quietly broke the silence.

Hawke slowly turned a weary gaze to him, “Just say something. Anything.”

Suddenly put on the spot Fenris fumbled for something meaningful to say as he approached Hawke, “Er... they say that death is a journey. Does that help?”

“Not really. It just raises further questions. A journey to where?”

“I don't know,” Fenris admitted as he sat beside him, “It's just something people say.”

He wondered if he should even be there. To say things were strained between the two of them would be putting it lightly, and Fenris felt that the storm of conflicting emotions raging just beneath his calm veneer would only burden Hawke.

“To be honest, I don't see much point in filling these moments with empty talk.”

That may have come out harsher than he intended, but Hawke merely nodded and watched the light of the fire dancing along the hearth. They sat in companionable silence for some time until Hawke spoke again.

“Would you stay with me tonight?”

Fenris stiffened, “Hawke,” he said with a touch of warning.

Hawke flinched and squeezed his eyes shut, knowing now how that must have sounded, “No... no not like that. Just sitting here. At least until I fall asleep. Please?”

Fenris regarded him for a few long moments. Hawke didn't meet his gaze, his eyes clouded with pain as he continued to watch the flames.

“Very well.”


	4. Carta

Fenris didn’t accompany Hawke on another outing proper until a few weeks later. Given the tragedy that had just befallen him none of the usual suspects begrudged Hawke for taking time off from adventuring.

Fenris contemplated the orange sky above him as he walked through Hightown one evening, watching as the dying embers of the sun mingled with the hazy glow of the foundries in the distance. He was carrying a small burlap bag of apples and some bread from the market, because even he knew a man can't live on wine alone. Hawke had constantly been on his mind, he not only found himself fretting for the man’s well-being but wondering if things could ever be comfortable between them. Pausing at the road to Hawke’s estate he hazarded a glance at the vine-draped archway just in time to see several short, hooded figures break down the door.

That was when the Carta attacked Hawke's home.

He immediately discarded the food, no doubt it would be gathered up by some local urchins, and unsheathed his blade, running in a charge toward the ensuing peril.

  
  


The fight itself was short but brutal. Hawke had been attacking sans staff and so now was blowing on his hands to relieve the slight singe from the fireballs he had been tossing around the room minutes before. Bodahn stood by the entrance to the library with Orana and Sandal cowering behind him, the stalwart old dwarf doing his best to look battle ready whilst wielding a poker from the nearby fireplace.

Fenris began to come down, his adrenaline and lyrium both singing with the thrill of battle. He was unaware of the intensity of his eyes as he sheathed his greatsword and gazed at Hawke from beneath his blood-soaked fringe. Hawke could only gawk at Fenris like he'd never seen the elf before, and Fenris couldn’t be certain but a blush may have creeped into the mage’s cheeks.

“Fenris!” Hawke shook his head to clear his shock, his face breaking into a broad smile, “Thanks for the rescue!”

And just like that it was as if nothing had changed between them. As if Fenris hadn't broken Hawke's heart. He knew it wasn't right to leave things this way, but for now, if it meant being near Hawke again, it was enough. He returned Hawke's smile with a small one of his own.

“Well then!” Hawke announced with a clap of his hands, “Let's find Varric and see what that was all about.”

\---

And here they were: trudging through the Vinmarks, sand in their boots, staving off attacks by frenzied Carta dwarves who had a thirst for Hawke’s blood. Of course.

But at least the company was entertaining. Varric chuckled lightly to himself, shaking his head as he trailed behind Hawke and Fenris, shamelessly eavesdropping on their awkward banter. He had his suspicions that something had happened between the two, Maker knows they had been coyly flirting for years, but hearing the elf’s uncharacteristic stuttering and Hawke’s bumbling attempts to broach the subject all but confirmed it.  

As Hawke and Fenris rounded a corner Varric suddenly found himself pulled rather roughly aside by Carver, the younger Hawke having been called on once it was clear this mess had something to do with both the siblings’ family and the Wardens.

“Fenris and _my brother?_ ” Carver said incredulously,  “When did this happen!?”

Varric could only grin at the lad's gaping disbelief, “What? Hawke didn't mention it in his letters? Well, not surprising, things have been kind of rough I think.”

Carver sighed and rolled his eyes, “You know I sort of looked up to that elf years ago, I thought he was, well, cool...”

Varric snorted, “And now he's not? Because he beds other men?”

“No, because he's with my _brother_. Why would anyone subject themselves to that?” Carver replied dryly.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm always disappointed Carver never really comments on Hawke and Fenris' relationship.


	5. Confession

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updated the tags because mentions of abuse in Fenris' past.

It was exactly one year since That Night and Fenris was restless. He had gone from believing himself to be an emotionless tool as a slave to barely able to contain the red hot rage that now simmered beneath his skin at all times. As such he didn’t even know where to begin finding a proper outlet for his emotions. Seeking an outlet with Hawke had only left a dense layer of anxiety and regret over everything else, a searing ache that lanced across his chest and down his arms as if his very blood threatened to boil over.

It was especially bad this evening as his thoughts spiraled into a pattern of self-hatred that not even the wine could dull. He had thought he knew what he wanted with Hawke, knew what he could have had with Hawke, but he was a coward who couldn’t even control his own mind and impulses. Yet still he could recall every touch, every breath, every movement and even as he thought it best if Hawke would hate him he yet yearned for more. He kicked aside one of the empty wine bottles he had discarded on the floor and it did little to ease his overwhelming need to destroy something.

There wasn’t much in the way of slavers or thieves in his ramshackle abode to take his frustration out on and so murdering the furniture became the next viable option. He hadn’t explored much of the mansion since commandeering it four years prior and even if he had only vague recollections of coming here once or twice too much of the noxiously opulent decor reminded him of Danarius.

He chose a random door on the second floor and kicked his way inside, eyes scanning the dust-covered study within. The flashbacks struck him almost immediately: Danarius seated at the desk, writing, discussing trivial matters with the Tevinter merchant who actually held ownership of the place. Fenris would be stuck standing for hours against the wall ostensibly guarding the magister, but in truth Danarius enjoyed the subtle tension his rivals felt knowing there was a wolf at their backs. A ferocious beast Danarius alone could command. And command he would, once business was concluded and Fenris was bade to join Danarius in one of the guest bedrooms--

He had gripped a bookshelf and toppled it to the floor before he was even aware of doing it. Gazing dumbly down at the the disorder now strewn across the rug of the once orderly room he decided it had felt good and set about wrecking everything he could get his hands on. Books were torn apart by hand, paintings were shredded with a letter opener he found on the desk, amulets and other magical artifacts were smashed against the wall. He finally turned on a tasteless stone bust that he couldn’t be sure was of Danarius, but it had a close enough resemblance to the magister for Fenris to heft it up and send it crashing through the nearby window.

As he angrily gulped in air he caught the eyes of the noble couple who lived in the mansion across the way, seated on their balcony and glaring back at him with the practiced outrage of the privileged. They had long since given up trying to report the terrifying glowing elf who lived in the seemingly abandoned mansion, whom the city guard had mysteriously failed to notice. Instead they tutted with irritation, shaking their heads as they made their way back inside, their afternoon tea spoiled.

“Fenris?”

Fenris blinked and followed the voice to the street below where he saw a rather perturbed Sebastian staring back up at him, the bust smashed to rubble on the ground just a few paces from his feet. Fenris opened and closed his mouth a few times, wanting to apologize while at the same time embarrassed to be caught in such a fit of pique.

"Are you alright, friend?" Sebastian asked.

"I- Yes. Fine,” Fenris lied, his eyes darting not at all inconspicuously to every point in his vision not currently occupied by Sebastian.

"I'm coming up."

"What!? Wait Sebastian-"

Fenris was thrown near into a state of panic at the sight of the monk disappearing around the corner. Of all the people in their rag-tag assortment Sebastian was the one who could most easily coax him into speaking of himself and his past, and he certainly didn't feel like doing either at the moment. He sprinted out of the room and tore across the landing, practically leaping down the entire flight of stairs before hastening to the front door and turning the lock with a sure, coppery click. He leaned back against the wall beside the door with a huff, feeling in every respect like a petulant child.

But his brief moment of respite was soon interrupted by the sounds of the tumblers in the lock turning followed by the door swinging open. Fenris raised an incredulous brow at Sebastian where he stood sheepishly holding a lockpick.

"Not the most appropriate skill for a chantry brother," Fenris remarked.

"Like many others in this city I possess skills from a life before," Sebastian replied rather pointedly.

Fenris glowered at him for a moment but found he could no longer summon the energy to be angry. Instead he sighed helplessly and trudged further into the mansion, "Would you like some wine?" he offered.

 

Soon the two were seated by the fireside in the room Fenris had claimed as his own. He had even managed to scrounge up a couple of wine goblets to at least give himself some remaining air of civility.

“Would you like to tell me what’s bothering you?” Sebastian asked gently.

Fenris sat back and threw one arm across his eyes, “Why do you care?”

“Because you're my friend,” The prince replied matter-of-factly, not at all put off by his grousing.

Fenris ventured a glance at those disarming blue eyes, full of earnest kindness and free of any judgment, and then hid beneath his arm once more. He was dangerously close to baring his heart and it irritated him.

After a moment of silence Sebastian spoke again, “I know the others are terrible gossips, but anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence. This I swear to you.”

“You want me to confess?” Fenris drawled with dark sarcasm, a feeble last resort to avoid the conversation.

Sebastian offered a cherubic smile as he set aside his still mostly full cup and clasped his hands over his knees, “You can think of it that way if you’d like. Or you can think of it as just talking a friend.”

Fenris heft a deep sigh and grumbled, “It’s Hawke.”

“Oh? What has he done?”

“Nothing. It’s nothing he’s done. It’s me. It’s… what happened between us.”

Even now Fenris could barely voice it. That Night had been the happiest he could ever recall being, and just as he dared to hope he could make something of his freedom that one perfect moment was shattered. By him. By his past. By everything that had been done to him.  

His internal brooding was interrupted when Sebastian gave a little cough.

“I have heard rumors from the others, yes…”

“Then you do not need me to elaborate,” Fenris growled, snatching the wine bottle and taking a deep pull before setting it down beside his chair.

“Did Hawke harm you?” Sebastian asked carefully, not truly believing the man would have.

“No. He did not.”

“Are you afraid of Hawke?” Sebastian ventured as he studied his friend carefully.

“No. Not of him. Perhaps how I think of him. How I... feel,” Fenris admitted, chewing at his lip.

“Is it because he's another man?” Sebastian guessed, and then started in surprise when Fenris gave a loud, throaty laugh.

“No. It's certainly not that,” Fenris replied, and Sebastian tried to ignore the way the elf was absentmindedly stroking his hand along the neck of the wine bottle.

“Is it because he's a mage?”

Fenris frowned, lifting the bottle to his lips once more.

“Perhaps,” he replied, “You know of my past. The way of things in the Imperium.”

Sebastian nodded, patiently waiting for Fenris to continue.

“I worry, at times, if I am not simply seeking another master on instinct. It is all I know. I cannot- I-” He faltered, wishing to choose his words carefully, “Perhaps I am too broken. Too sullied.”

Sebastian struggled to school his features, aware that any appearance of pity would make the prickly elf shut down, “Fenris, that isn't true-”

“ _Danarius_ ,” the name was spat from Fenris’ lips like venom, “He was all I knew for so long. He could command of me anything and I would obey. Everything of me was his and I was incapable of thinking beyond his needs.”

Sebastian felt a twist in the pit of his stomach but didn’t dare push Fenris on the implications of what he had just said.

“Whatever my feelings on his apostasy, Hawke is a good man. A kind man of conviction. I’m certain whatever you would wish to tell him he would be accepting of you.”

Fenris sighed and set down the bottle, taking up his cup and what little was left in it, “I am certain you are correct.”

“Change can be painful, Fenris, and a great deal of work. Believe me, I know this well.”

“I do not doubt you,” Fenris answered quietly.

They talked a while longer, drifting to lighter, more mundane topics, and Fenris seemed to relax the further they drew away from speaking of his turmoil. Once Sebastian was satisfied the elf would be alright left alone, he stood and bowed to him, announcing he would take his leave. Fenris, with practiced politesse, walked him to the door and opened it for him, seeing him out. However a strange, pensive look crossed the elf’s face, his rigid formalities leaving him as he slumped against the door frame.

“Sebastian...”

Sebastian looked back to Fenris, lips turned in his familiar serene smile. For a moment the prince saw something in the elf's eyes, a longing he knew he couldn't fulfill, but it passed just as quickly.

“Thank you,” Fenris finished, and then shut the door.

Sebastian smiled and shook his head before making his way back to the Chantry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things fueled this chapter:
> 
> A.) My own experiences with anxiety and anger issues.
> 
> B.) My headcanon that Fenris has a small crush on Sebastian.


	6. Gossip

Fenris would occasionally seek Sebastian out to confide in him after that, whether it was when Sebastian would come by the dilapidated mansion to check in on him, or Fenris would venture to the Chantry to speak somewhere free of the ghosts of his past. The prince was getting a clearer picture of the elf's troubling life, although at times it was the things he left unsaid that were more worrying. Overall, Fenris seemed to have begrudgingly accepted that he could speak to Sebastian without fear of judgment.

So of course it was only a matter of time before the others, busibodies that they were, took notice.

“Alright now, bright eyes, why're you seein' Fenris so much!?”

Hawke swayed unsteadily, stabbing an accusing finger through the air in Sebastian's general direction. Sebastian observed the display with mild interest as Hawke knocked back a generous swig of his ale, spilling some down the front of his coat. They were seated at a lopsided  table in the Hanged Man's main room, although Hawke never seemed pay much mind to making a scene even while sober.

“Bright eyes!” Varric murmured mostly to himself, “Why didn't I think of that one?”

“He's needed someone to talk to, that's all,” Sebastian replied, idly wondering if he'd have to catch Hawke should the drunken mage fall out of his chair.

Hawke slammed his mug onto the table and leaned closer to Sebastian, blinking unevenly, “Are you tryin' to seduce him or something!? With yer chiseled jawline and yer sexy accent and yer perfect hair! I can tell he likes you!”

“I took a vow of chastity, Hawke,” Sebastian said, blinking, “And I don't look at men that way.”

“So why's he- why's he talk to you and not me!?” Hawke practically wailed. He went to take another swig and only to find he had drained the mug entirely.

“Perhaps because I'm a neutral party,” Sebastian offered, gently removing the empty mug from Hawke's hand while shaking his head at the barmaid who offered to refill it.

Varric began rapping his fingers against table as he did whenever the beginnings of a new tale were forming in his mind, “You could at least tell us _something_ , Choir Boy, we're all concerned about him.”

Sebastian raised an incredulous brow, “I've promised him anything he tells me will be held in the strictest confidence. I won't violate that trust.”

“Oh you're no fun,” Isabela said with a dramatic pout.

“I just- I just want to understand-” Hawke muttered, pouting as well.

“Then perhaps you should be asking Fenris yourself, Hawke,” was all Sebastian would say further on the subject.

“But he won’t talk to me!” Hawke blubbered, burying his face in his arms on the table. Aveline rolled her eyes and awkwardly patted his back with mutterings of ‘here we go again.’

 

Across the table Anders sat with his head lowered, his grip tightening on the mug in his hand, not joining in the revelry as the others laughed at Hawke’s pain. His thoughts, as usual, mingled with the compulsions of the spirit sharing his mind. The elf had seduced Hawke and then broke his heart, leaving him in such a state. It wasn’t fair, Hawke deserved someone who would appreciate him, who could understand him, who wouldn’t treat his gifts like a sin. The elf needed to pay for his indiscretions.

  
It was only Just.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Real talk: I decided to post these drabbles mainly because of the drunken Hawke scene here. 
> 
> Also hoo boy did that suddenly take a dark turn. Updating the tags again.


End file.
